


annecy

by sunflowerseed



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 06:00:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18440489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerseed/pseuds/sunflowerseed
Summary: Arthur acted differently than Eames had ever known him to in this place. He slept late, he sat in the window seat watching the birds of prey fight amongst themselves in the mornings, he made coffee methodically, he napped in front of the fire swaddled in blankets, he took long hot baths, he ate (more than Eames had seen him eat anyplace else), he turned out all the lights, he undressed slowly, he kissed Eames like he’d kiss him here and like this again and again and again.





	annecy

Eames knows he’s out of his depth when he steps off his Eurostar at Gare du Nord and can’t find his mobile. He hasn’t been in a french train station since he was a boy on his way to his paternal grandmother’s for summer vacation. Now, the place is buzzing with life, in utter contrast to Eames who is already exhausted after a relatively short train ride from St. Pancras. He readjusts his duffel on his shoulder, shuffles to the end of the platform and stands to the side to better search through his rucksack. 

‘ Fabulous.’ He says pulling the zipper shut once he’s surmised that there’s no way his phone is in its contents. ‘ Absolutely fabulous.’

A woman walking past gives him a withering look and he smiles. ‘ Bonne journée.’ He says in a terrible French accent. She pulls her bag in close to her side and looks abruptly away. 

Typical Parisian, Eames thinks, most hateful people on Earth. 

He hasn’t got time enough to deal with his predicament here so he trudges down the escalators to the RER line and stands among the other travellers waiting for the south-bound tube. Once he’s managed to weasel his way onto one of the many overstuffed carriages he sits next to an elderly black woman carrying three purses. No questions asked, Eames stares blankly ahead. She says something briskly to him in a raspy voice as they’re coming on his station. Eames smiles and nods as if he’s understood but it seems to appease her regardless.

Thankfully, the Gare du Lyon is less busy but Eames is still hot as ever. He prepares himself mentally to interact with the person at the information desk before he sidles up to the glass wall and smiles. The woman sizes him up and doesn’t say a word. ’ Bonjour. ’ Eames says. ‘ Um, j’ai… perdu mon cellphone. Uhhh, et sur my phone j’ai eu mon billet.’

The woman stares at him for a drawn out moment. 

‘ Désole, mon français est… rusty. Sorry.’

She rests her elbow on her desk and her chin on her palm. ‘ t’as perdu ton billet?’

‘ Yes.’

She raises her eyebrows and points at her desk. ‘ Ici?’

Eames could scream. ‘ No, not here I don’t- J’en sais pas ou. I don’t know where.’

‘ D’accord…’ She glances around her desk. ‘ Donc…’

‘ Mon gare… departs a douze heure. J’etais à Gare du Nord uhhh you know what-‘ He glances at his watch and he has exactly sixteen minutes before his train will depart. ‘ forget it. Ca ne fait rien. Je achete un nouveau billet.’ 

She shrugs. ‘ Ok, the ticket booth is right over there.’ 

Eames gapes. Really? He thinks. Really!? His only respite is the train ride that follows. It is wildly uneventful and he sets up camp on the empty drink carriage to stare benevolently at the Southern country side. He’s pleasantly surprised to find his brother is waiting for him at the Gare d’Annecy. ‘ Alfie!’ Georgie exclaims coming up just short of him.

He’s grown out his beard and it looks as if he’s lost a bit of weight. Eames drops his bag at their feet and Georgie pats him on the back. ‘ You look well.’

Georgie holds him at arms length and smiles like older brothers do at little ones. ‘ I’m afraid I can’t say the same for you. It’s been a long day hasn’t it?’

‘ I don’t even want to discuss it.’

‘ Poppy’s around here somewhere. I thought Arthur was coming. I brought down the hunting rifles so I could redeem myself from last time.’

Eames had successfully banished Arthur from occupying the forefront of his mind for the better part of his travels and he’d hoped that Poppy hadn’t told everyone that he was coming. He smiles weakly: ‘ Something came up… with work. You know how it is.’

Poppy bounds up then with four bottles of water and a bag of haribo cradled in her arms. Her dirty blonde hair is newly dyed a dark brown and her nails are painted the same colour as the purple wellies she always wore growing up. ‘ Where’s Arthur!?’

Fucks sake, Eames thinks before regurgitating what he just told Georgie. She contorts her face in displeasure. He knows already that she’ll be doing her fair share of prying later. ‘ Oh, that’s too bad. I was looking forward to eviscerating him in scrabble again. Here.’ She passes them each a water and hugs Eames around his middle. ‘ I’m so glad you’re here but we’re double parked so we’ve got to run like billy-o.’

The house in Annecy is a chalet his father bought for ski trips to La Clusaz when they were children. It’s on the smaller side compared to the houses in London and Buckinghamshire but it’s traditionally built from European larch with South facing picture windows for the best sun exposure so it’s always been Eames’ favourite.

Unfortunately, the place has come to remind him of Arthur. Since that first time he brought him in the wake of a near catastrophic job in Aix-en-Provence under the pretence of lying low. Eames can remember the look of wonderment on Arthur’s face when he pulled in the drive. At first, Eames thought it had to do with the snow (because being born and raised in New York City does something funny to the body) but then he began to understand it was a tad more complicated than that. 

Irrespective, Arthur acted differently than Eames had ever known him to in this place. He slept late, he sat in the window seat watching the birds of prey fight amongst themselves in the mornings, he made coffee methodically, he napped in front of the fire swaddled in blankets, he took long hot baths, he ate (more than Eames had seen him eat anyplace else), he turned out all the lights, he undressed slowly, he kissed Eames like he’d kiss him here and like this again and again and again. And then, Eames was surprised to find that even when Arthur attended the Eames’ Christmas at the chalet with his siblings and his mother he’d maintained this new found assuage but when, inevitably, they returned to work his shoulders were wound back up in due time.

Then there was the once, they were walking to the corner-shop in Kinshasa for rolling tobacco and Arthur turned to look at Eames, his underarms dampened with sweat, and said: ‘ Probably be nice in the South of France right about now.’

Eames follows his siblings in through the front door. It’s dark out and the only light on in the house is the fireplace in the living room. His back is aching from all the sitting down he’s just done but Poppy meets his gaze and heads in the direction of the kitchen. ‘ Want a drink?’

‘ Mum had a migraine, I’ll go check on her.’ Georgie says disappearing down the far hall.

Poppy leans up on the counter to open the liquor cabinet and there’s a flash of a memory from last Christmas in the periphery of his mind. Arthur and Poppy just before midnight, their cheeks reddened from the bottle of spiced rum she’s wielding now, bundled in their winter jackets and hats and mitts, rushing Eames and Georgie out the door to catch the fireworks display over the Bay of Albigny.

‘ I should get to bed.’ He says but he sits at the bar and she gives him a glass anyway.

‘ It’ll help you sleep.’ She leans in toward him. ‘ So…’

Eames takes a drink. ‘ He’s in Morocco working.’

Poppy is watching him intently. ‘ Why?’ She’s being easy on him.

‘ He was supposed to come but… I’m afraid I’ve been a bit of a stitch in his side recently. He’s not- it’s a bit of silent warfare is all. I’ve been on his case about things. He doesn’t take well to being pressed while he’s working and he’s always working so.’

’ What is it you’re on his case about?’

‘ Oh, you know… just for him to work less’ Eames gives it a second of thought. ‘ and marriage and a bab.’ he adds as an afterthought

Poppy blinks at him. ‘ Alfred.’

—

Eames flips open his suitcase. ’ You should have something to eat.’

Arthur is curled up in bed softened by a hot shower and Eames knows already he’s lost this battle before it’s begun. He nuzzles deeper into the duvet and closes his eyes. ‘ Not hungry. Just need to sleep.’

Once Eames’ unpacked his shoes and toiletries he sits quietly in the hotel armchair with an American tabloid he bought at Heathrow at 4 in the morning when he was delirious. He can tell by the way Arthur’s breathing that he’s still awake so he obliges. ‘ Eldest sister (reality star), 8 letters.’

‘ You know that.’ Arthur mumbles rubbing at his nose with the back of his hand.

Eames bites on the end of his pen. ‘… I don’t think I do, darling.’

‘ Kourtney.’

‘ Right, right. Of course.’

In a matter of minutes Arthur’s responses dwindle from nearly incoherent mumbles to heavy breathing settled somewhere deep in his chest. Eames gives it another ten minutes before tucking the magazine under his pillow and touching Arthur’s shoulder gently. ‘ I’m going to pop round to the shop for water.’ He whispers and Arthur, being sleep depraved, doesn’t stir even a little bit.

‘ Who is it?’ Dom shouts from beyond closed door and Eames rolls his eyes.

‘ It’s Eames.’ There’s a momentary pause. ‘ Dom, open the bloody-‘

He does but he looks wholly unimpressed. It’s clear he’s already been sleeping by the lines pressed into his face and the drool dried at the corner of his mouth. ‘ What do you want?’ He says with that unbearable fullness of just waking.

Eames pushes down his disgust and smiles. ‘ Fancy a drink?’

He sits uncomfortably at the bar with Eames for half hour before he gets a word in edgewise. 

‘ So,’ He says when Eames stops rambling and settles into the silence. ‘ this is about Arthur isn’t it?’

Eames licks his lips nervously and waves down the bartender for another. ‘ … He’ll have my head… you know.’

Dom shrugs and Eames knows better than anyone that he’s going out on a limb here.

‘ He needs time off.’

Dom taps his fingers absently against the bar.

‘ I know you’ve got that job lined up… and I know, well- see we’re going to my families for the week between but he needs more time… and I think you know that.’

Dom tilts his head from side to side and he fiddles with the totem in his pocket. ‘ He could say no.’

Eames gives him a sobering look.

‘ Okay, I’ll bag him.’

His body sags and he thanks the powers that be that for once, Dom has the sense of mind to listen to him. ‘ Just this once.’

Dom nods.

It’s a wonder that Eames thinks he’s gotten away with it. Especially since it’s Arthur’s job to know everything. It does, however, take a few days before there’s anything to be concerned about. It all starts to blow up in his face when Arthur returns to their make-shift workspace, in an abandoned mosque, from a lunch run with Dom. He places Eames’ take away box on the corner of his desk but he’s clearly preoccupied with his thoughts.

Alright, Eames thinks, he’s told him but then they’re finally alone and Arthur won’t look at him.

‘ Has Dom said anything to you about that job in Marrakech.’

Eames blanches and after all it is his nature to lie. ‘ No. Why?’

‘ He says it’s a lot smaller scale than he thought.’ He unties his tie and tosses it on the dresser.

Eames folds his trousers length wise. ‘ Oh… really?’

‘ Yeah, says I should take some down time instead.’

Eames hums to himself and he knows he’s been had.

‘ Sounds a lot like someone.’

Eames glances at him and he’s sitting on the edge of the bed taking off his shoes.

‘ I told you, I don’t need more time off.’

There’s really nothing he can say now except: ‘ Alright.’

Arthur is shaking his head. ‘ That’s it? You go behind my back and try to- try to manipulate my life and that’s all you’ve got to say.’

Eames looks up from fussing with the clothes in his suitcase to look at him. ‘ I don’t know what you want me to say, Arthur. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-‘

‘ You didn’t mean to what!? There’s no you didn’t mean to, Eames. That makes no fucking sense.’ There’s a long drawn out silence in which Arthur removes his shirt and trousers facing the wall. ‘ You really didn’t think I’d be suspicious of the fact Dom’s never worked a job without me? The two of you put your heads together and this is the best you could come up with? Honestly, this is some of your worst work.’

‘ Alright, I admit it was something of a last resort. But what was I supposed to do, Arthur? Please do tell because I’d love to know.’

‘ I don’t know.’ He leans back into the headboard and takes his book from the bedside. ‘ Maybe try respecting my decisions or if that’s too hard just… accept them.’

He’s right, that much Eames can admit but he’s impulsive and he was desperate. ‘ Alright, take the job in Morocco. Why even bother with a week off?’

Arthur finally looks at him and if they were strangers again and if Eames didn’t know any better he’d say this was Arthur through and through. ‘ You’re right, it’s just a waste of time anyway.’

—

Eames takes the landline from the kitchen and throws his things at the foot of the bed. He lies back on the fresh linens and dials Arthur’s most recent number. It goes straight to voicemail and half of Eames is relieved but the other half is disappointed. 

You’ve reached the voicemail of Fazlur Khan. Please leave a message after the beep.

‘ Hi, it’s me. I’m just calling to let you know I’ve arrived at the house with all my limbs attached. Call me… if you’d like I suppose. Oh, I lost my phone somewhere in my travels so call the land line if you do. Alright, well…… listen, pet. I think I’ve made a terrible mistake coming here without you… I know you’ve been looking forward to it. I shouldn’t have- I should’ve never said what I did… What a pathetic voice message. Alright, please just ring me. Take care.’

Overnight, there’s a powdery snowfall of 10 cm and in the morning there are fresh rabbit tracks through the back garden. His mum doesn’t mention Arthur as Poppy’s likely already forewarned her. Instead, she does a proper english fry up and loads Eames’ plate with everything brown. They spend the rest of the day on the mountain and Eames has to blame his skiing on the condition of the terrain. Georgie and their mum head back early to check on the roast and by the time Poppy and Eames have had their bit of banter with the regulars in the chalet, loaded themselves and their gear into the back of the car the sun is already set. When they pull in the drive there’s pale white smoke coming from the chimney and Eames swears he can taste hot cider from the driver’s seat. 

Georgie is snoring in a recliner he’s pulled up close to the fireplace and there’s an Edith Piaf record playing from the terrible gramophone Eames bought from a charity shop for his dad’s 50th birthday when he was 19. Their mum leans across the bar with a small smile to speak to them and Eames is stricken by the lines pulling at her face. 

‘ Go and change. Dinner’s nearly ready.’

Eames clambers up the back steps pulling at the layers that are suddenly suffocating him. There’s enough light in his room from the moon in the window that he can navigate it without the overhead. He tosses his snow gear into the window seat and without the whipping noise of nylon he’s left in veritable silence so as he’s bending over to remove his socks he’s startled by the shallow sound of breathing. He focuses more intently on the bunched up duvet and there’s no sign of movement but the longer he looks the more apparent it becomes that there is a person in his bed.

He leans onto the edge of the mattress and pulls gently at the duvet. 

‘ Arthur?’

Eames brushes Arthur’s hair away from his forehead and instinctually he curls up like a stink bug in duress. Somehow, it wicks away everything: hauling his bags through St. Pancras, Gare du Nord, and Gare du Lyon, losing his phone and ticket, that annoying woman at the information desk, Morrocco, the fighting and the indifference.There’s a dull redness high on Arthur’s cheekbone that looks to be the early makings of a bruise. He sits there quietly with his hand on Arthur’s head and debates with himself internally about whether or not to wake him. It takes everything in him to leave the room without seeing the whites of his eyes.

‘ Is he up?’ Poppy says around the strawberry in her mouth.

She hands him a glass of red wine and he shakes his head. ‘ You knew about this?’

‘ No, Georgie just told me.’

Georgie is awake now, still lounging casually in his chair and he tilts his head back to look at Eames. ‘ He just showed up this afternoon.’

He slips back into his bedroom at the end of the night but he keeps a cautionary distance from the warm body next to him. His heart beats something wicked when he’s awoken in the night by the soft press of a cheek to his chest. In the morning, his arm is over extended but Arthur is still tucked in close to his side staring absently out the window. 

‘ How long have you been up?’ Eames says leveraging his sleeping hand to touch Arthur’s shoulder. 

He turns up his chin to look at Eames. ‘ Not long.’ He mumbles and Eames pulls gently at a clump of hair that’s sticking up on the back of Arthur’s head.

’ I’m sorry, for going to Dom. It wasn’t right.’

Arthur shakes his head. ‘ I should’ve just gone along with it… The first day in Marrakesh he punched me in the face.’

Eames pauses and is momentarily irate. ‘ You’re joking.’

He huffs out a laugh. ’ No, it was my fault. I was miserable.’ He rolls onto his stomach and raises up on his elbows. ‘ Is it bad?’ He says turning in profile so Eames can get a better look at it.

He touches it with the tips of his fingers and now that he’s really looking, the corner of Arthur’s eye is swollen and yellowed as well. ‘ Is that why you’re here?’ Arthur winces but Eames hasn’t applied any pressure. ‘ I think… it’s a welcomed addition. You’re too pretty anyhow.’

Arthur pulls gently at the chain around Eames’ neck. ‘ I was being awful, then Dom sucker punched me and I got your message and I just thought-’

‘ You don’t have to explain.’ Arthur watches him silently because it’s very like Eames to prod for answers but then deprive himself of an explanation. ’ It should be cleared up enough for Dom to give you another next week.’ He closes his fist in the back of his hair.

‘ There is no next week.’ He continues. ‘ I’m done with Morocco. I resigned from all the jobs I’d lined up for the next few months. I just- I get caught up in these endless working cycles. You know that and I just thought-’ He lowers his head. ‘ when it comes down to it you know… I’d never choose work over this.’ He flicks the pendant into the hollow of Eames’ throat and leans in close enough that Eames can’t resist giving him a dry kiss.

Arthur leans into it and flits his fingers up into Eames' jumper. ‘ I want to make it up to you.’ He says smiling and Eames knows already they’ve both forgiven.


End file.
